Borden’s eyes were fixed toward the north, as if he believed Black Dugal was truly following them. “And when he does find us, I will be myself again. I will again be Borden Bronachell, Dayknight, King of Gul Kana. And I will be ready.”
* * *
And Laijon returned shall set fire upon the Atonement Tree upon which he was hung, which shall devour the ethic Vallè shroud.
—THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON
* * *
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
TALA BRONACHELL
2ND DAY OF THE FIRE MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
AMADON, GUL KANA
Seita had returned to court. She reclined on the divan near Tala’s bedchamber door, thin legs crossed, feet propped on a green velvet footstool. The Vallè princess wore black leather breeches with a red felt stripe down each leg and a black jerkin studded with silver at the collar, a thin white silk shirt underneath.
Mornings in Tala’s room were always peaceful and cool, even in the middle of summer. Tala sat at the edge of her bed wrapped in a plush quilt of thick maroon-colored yarn, a quilt her mother had knitted. One of the few things that reminded her of Alana Bronachell. Tala stroked the fabric with distracted fingers as she listened to her cousin.
“I sometimes dream I’m reaching out for you, Tala.” Lawri wore a soft yellow nightgown. She was propped against the bed’s dark umber headboard just to the right of Tala, her legs tucked under a rich woolen blanket of deep blue. The heavy curtains were thrown open behind her, letting the gray morning light of dawn spread over the room’s rich wood furniture and huge stone hearth, where Hawkwood’s sword was hidden. “I’m reaching out my hand to pull you to safety. You’re lost and injured and in a dark tunnel somewhere with no floor, clinging to the walls, blood covering your chest. I am flying on the Silver Throne, and I have to save you before you fall.” She dropped her eyes to the stump of her arm atop her lap; it was wrapped in white sackcloth bandages. “But then I realize I have no hand.” Then she looked up, hopeful. “I truly believe Laijon has a plan for me and all shall be well.”
Tala remembered the very moment seven days ago when Lawri’s missing hand had been wrapped in sackcloth smelling of vinegar and poppy seeds and taken from the infirmary with the rest of her arm. The severed appendage was tossed into Ser Osten Northanger’s oven in the small blacksmith shop under the castle’s east end rookery.
So many have been hurt. She thought back on the stab wounds Jovan had suffered in the assassination attempt, the facial injuries Jondralyn had suffered at the hands of Gault Aulbrek. Her brother had been laid up for days; her sister had remained in the infirmary for some time, injured face wrapped for over a moon.
Yet Tala’s cousin had gone from delirious and close to death, to almost perfect in mind and body after Jovan had cut off her infected arm. Could it have been the green balls of medicine I fed her? The Bloodwood had claimed it was Vallè medicine in those marble-sized balls. The Vallè healed thrice as fast as a human. Plus Val-Gianni had been plying her cousin with enough Vallè healing draughts to sedate an ox, which perhaps explained Lawri’s overall comfort these last few days. But with each question seemingly answered, another ten arose.
She looked at the missing tip of her own finger, burned away by some silver acid dripping from the ceiling in the red-hazed room where Glade had murdered Ser Sterling Prentiss. Lawri’s arm is severed and there she sits as comfortable as you please, and this tiny wound still stings like an Avlonian wasp.
In fact, Lawri seemed in fine spirits today. I truly believe Laijon has a plan for me and all shall be well, she’d said. But Tala knew nothing would ever be well again. How can anyone feel so relaxed and comfortable after what happened to Squireck Van Hester? Her heart grew instantly leaden thinking of him again. A lump formed in her throat, and she almost wanted to cry; the weight of her grief could be so heavy.
“Your optimism and dreams are fascinating, Lawri,” Seita said.
Tala had not seen the Vallè princess in over a moon. Seita claimed she had gone back to the Isle of Val Vallè with Val-Draekin, who had stayed there. She had arrived back to Jovan’s court just this morning and come straight to Tala’s room, asking of Lawri’s injuries, fretting over the girl nonstop. Tala recalled how Seita had wished to be friends not long before she had left. Tala wondered if they still were.
“Do you think my dreams will come true?” Lawri asked Seita, gaily fussing with the folds of her nightgown with her good hand, as if her every arrangement of the fabric was a new joy to behold.
“I cannot say for a certainty,” the Vallè answered. “But there are a few dreams I myself have hoped to come true, and others . . . not so much. Some dreams, I fear, may be the workings of the wraiths.”
At the mention of the wraiths, Lawri’s pale face seemed to darken. Then it brightened again almost as fast. “I should tell you, Tala, my Ember Gathering has been scheduled for the morrow.” She was still stroking her nightgown. “The grand vicar granted me quick dispensation. In light of all that has happened to my family, you know, all that has happened as of late, Lindholf’s crimes and imprisonment, my infected arm. Denarius will perform the ceremony himself.”
“I thought you didn’t want the grand vicar touching you.” Tala felt a hint of anger creep into her tone, the image of Lawri, naked, being blessed with the holy oils of Grand Vicar Denarius flashing into her mind. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t make such a terrible fuss,” Lawri said. “You always get so cross about things you don’t understand.”
“But we all heard what you said in the arena.” Tala was mystified. How could someone go from such abject horror to eager delight in so short a span? Vallè sorcery? Glowing green pills? Or likely the deceptive, honeyed tongue of the grand vicar at work. Lawri had been so adamant in the arena when she’d voiced her displeasure. “You did not want Denarius touching you. Remember?”
“I was wrong.” Lawri shrugged. “It’s simple as that. According to my mother, I was sinful and I was wrong. Since Jovan rid me of my arm, Denarius has been anointing me with priesthood oils and blessing me daily. It was a mistake not to trust him. A mistake to avoid him. Only through the power of His Grace’s faith and prayers have I healed so fast.”
Tala couldn’t bring herself to admit aloud that she’d seen Lawri naked with the grand vicar. What would Lawri say if she knew? Tala couldn’t think of anything worse than being so exposed before anyone, much less that toad, Denarius.
Lawri straightened up in the bed. “The grand vicar says my Ember Gathering on the morrow should rid me of all unpleasant dreams and fill my tender soul with naught but good thoughts.”
“Have you been discussing your dreams with the vicar?” Seita inquired.
“I’ve confessed many things to Denarius in preparation for my Ember Gathering. One must be pure of all sin, pure before Laijon to enter into the ash and flame.”
What inappropriate and pointed questions might the vicar ask of you, my dear Lawri? Tala could no longer see the grand vicar as anything but the lech he was.
Seita spoke up. “Pray tell, what horrible dreams does the vicar claim your Ember Gathering will wash away?”
“It’s mostly when I dream of my brother that I feel despair.” Grief tightened about Lawri’s green-flecked eyes. “He’s done such grievous things, Lindholf has. All but destroyed the Le Graven name. Mother thinks I have become all but unmarriageable because of what disgrace he has brought us.”
“That’s just not true,” Tala said.
“Which part?” Lawri asked. “That Lindholf has not done grievous things, or that the nobles are lining up to marry me?” She held up the stub of her arm.
“Your brother is innocent,” Tala countered. “I know he is. Lindholf did not conspire to assassinate my brother. He did not kill Sterling Prentiss.”
“They hung him in the arena, Tala,” Lawri snapped. “I watched. You watched. How much more proof do you need of his guilt? They hung him.”
“He w
as not hung; he . . . he disappeared.” Tala still couldn’t wrap her mind around all that had happened where Lindholf was concerned. “He vanished. You saw it as well as I. A poof of smoke and they were all of them gone.”
“I hate him.” Lawri threw the covers off her legs. “Wherever he is, I hate him.”
“Don’t speak like that,” Tala said. “You don’t hate him. He is your brother.”
Lawri stewed, sitting at the edge of the bed now, frail fingers listlessly toying with the bandages around her stump, her once wistful eyes clouded with suspicion.
Tala carried on, “Don’t you recall when your brother could send us all into merry peals of laughter with just a word or a goofy look?”
“He wasn’t even really all that funny, as I recall.” Lawri abruptly stood, slipping her feet into the two soft leather slippers under the bed. Her eyes darted about the room, falling on the chest of drawers nearby. She grabbed one of Tala’s brushes off the chest.
“Forgive Lindholf, please,” Tala pleaded, feeling that everything was her fault.
“I’m afraid I must take my leave of your chamber, Tala,” Lawri announced waspishly, running the copper-handled brush through her hair with brusque purpose. “I must ready myself for my Ember Gathering. I must study my prayers. I must be fully ready.” She dropped the brush and threw a shawl over her yellow nightgown, attempted to tie it at the neckline with her one hand. Seita stood and helped her. Once the shawl was secure, Lawri headed straight for the chamber door, grasping the brass knob. She turned and looked back at Tala. “You of all people should be happy for me and my Ember Gathering, but I sense only jealousy in you, Tala.” She unlatched the door and walked out into the gray corridor, slamming the door hard behind her.
Discouraged, Tala’s eyes fell on the great hearth against the wall and her access to the secret ways. I must escape this prison too! The clue to Lindholf’s disappearance and Lawri’s misery was out there somewhere, and she meant to find it. She meant to escape this confining castle and find Lindholf. Every single conflict within her was tied to the Bloodwood and the secret ways.
“Lawri is not the awkward, coltish girl we think she is,” Seita said. “Still, I worry for her and her Ember Gathering with the grand vicar.”
“Why?” Tala’s spine froze, her eyes glued to the black depths of the hearth as her mind churned, wondering if the Vallè princess also knew of Denarius’ lecherous ways.
“I fear the Ember Gathering will change her in ways that we both will not like,” Seita said.
“How so?”
“You do not know what goes on during an Ember Gathering?”
Tala felt a trifle annoyed by the question. She turned from the fireplace to find Seita was again sitting on the divan, feet propped on the footstool before her.
Tala answered, “I know nothing of the Ember Gathering. You know as well as I that it is a secret ceremony, a coming-of-age ritual only to be administered once during a girl’s lifetime, never to be spoken of again by the participants. Nobody knows what goes on during an Ember Gathering. Until they go through it.”
“And don’t you find that the least bit odd?”
“It’s just the way things are, have always been.”
“I find it odd that most humans do not even know the most basic doctrines and sacraments of their own church.”
“Well, the Ember Gathering is a sacred ceremony; of course they keep it secret. Keeping the secret is part of womanhood.”
“What of the Ember Lighting?” Seita asked. “The coming-of-age ceremony for the boys is a public celebration for all to see. Yet the girl’s Ember Gathering is kept secretive. Why is that?”
“It is sacred, I guess.”
“That is your reasoning?”
“Other than what I’ve already said, I don’t know why it’s never talked about.”
“And you’ve never cared to find out?”
“It’s not important. Seems the least of my troubles.”
“ ’Tis disappointing to hear such apathy coming from you.” Seita sighed. “For it appears the Ember Gathering is indeed but one more confirmation of the severe feeblemindedness of the women of Gul Kana.”
Feeblemindedness? Tala’s annoyance had shifted to offense. “What do you mean?”
“Do you not even wish to know what goes on in an Ember Gathering?” Seita asked. “So that you may have the choice whether to participate in the ritual or not when your time comes? Do you not wish to at least become educated on the subject, to at least be prepared for the entirety of all it entails?”
“Who would tell me anyway when, as you said, no woman is allowed to speak of it?”
“But they could, if they so chose to. Would you listen?”
“And help them betray an oath, help them go against the will of Laijon?”
“What is the will of Laijon but a silly fantasy?” Seita shrugged, a light giggle in her voice. “What are the wraiths and the beasts of the underworld but make-believe monsters to scare children into obedience?”
Tala’s spine was once again a frozen block of ice. We tread on blasphemous ground. “And I suppose you know what goes on in an Ember Gathering?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? The Ember Gathering is based on a simple Vallè fertility ritual, but over the centuries it has been perverted and twisted into something almost unrecognizable by the grand vicar and Quorum of Five Archbishops, perverted into nothing more than a secret orgy for them to slake their lusts on. The Ember Gathering and the guilt that comes with it gives the church men control over your body and mind.”
The blood coursing through Tala’s spine and veins was now so icy, it burned. She could feel her face flush. “You lie” was the only response she could formulate.
“If you are to become a ruler of this kingdom, Tala Bronachell, you must learn all you can about your church and its deep well of secrets.”
Ruler? Her mind reeled. She hated vague conversations and strange insinuation. She had walked out on just such a conversation with Hawkwood not long ago.
“Let me speak plainly to you now,” Seita went on, “so for once in your life you will be fully aware. The Ember Gathering is a sustained and ritualistic cleansing of your body. You are first stripped of all raiment. Naked, you stand before the vicar and archbishops as they cover your body with consecrated oils and gray ash, their probing hands blessing you; health in your bones, strength in your sinews, fertility in your womb. You in turn make many promises, one of which is that no matter who you wed in mortal life, you willingly consecrate your immortal soul to those servants of Laijon who were not allowed to marry in mortality.”
Tala’s mind spun with the implications. She wondered if Lawri’s previous dream was but a metaphor of her marriage to Denarius in the afterlife. Or is it all nonsense?
Seita continued, “Every servant of Laijon has been promised many heavenly sessions. They are each of them promised wives as numerous as the sands of the sea when they die.”
Tala was stunned and sickened. “You lie,” she muttered.
Seita appeared to ignore the accusation. “At the end of your Ember Gathering, you will swear an oath to never speak of the sacred blessings given you nor the promises you made, lest your heart be torn from your chest and buried in a dung-filled grave. The Ember Gathering has been thus for centuries.”
“You are just trying to scare me,” Tala muttered. “Just trying to play with my mind.” The way the Vallè princess talked to her now reminded her of the Bloodwood assassin who stalked the secret ways and tormented her so. “Why lie to me?” she asked. “You are purposefully misleading me. If what you say is the truth, someone would have said something about it by now and exposed the truth of it all. A disturbing secret like that would never last for centuries. You are full of lies.”
“It is you who has been lied to,” Seita said. “You and everyone else who believes in The Way and Truth of Laijon.” The Vallè princess rose from the divan. “There is more you must know, Tala. More you must con
template. And it will be hard to hear.”
“Yes, tell me more lies, please I implore you.” She tried to sound sarcastic.
“What if I were to tell you that the dragons are but a myth, that they never existed, that the beasts of the underworld were but an ancient rumor, a mere fiction created to scare the children and keep people in line?”
“I would say the nameless beasts of the underworld were real,” Tala countered. “And you should not speak their name in my chamber.”
“Dragons. Dragons. Dragons.” The Vallè princess mockingly repeated. “I can say the name as much as I desire, Tala Bronachell, for nothing will happen if I do. The ridiculous fear of dragons and the fiery pits of the underworld has become a religion unto itself. But it is all completely false. Everything you believe is but a fraud. Those things supposedly banished to the underworld are not to be feared.”
“Why did you even come back from Val Vallè?” Tala asked. “You should have just stayed there with Val-Draekin. I thought you wanted to be my friend. A friend would never say such things.”
“A friend will always share the truth, Tala. For the truth is all that matters.”
† † † † †
That night King Jovan summoned his entire court to Sunbird Hall. Tala, still in a horrible mood, was one of the last to arrive. When she entered the chamber, the Silver Guard were already in place along with dozens of Dayknights, all stoically lining the walls and alcoves and both staircases at the eastern end of the hall, spears at their shoulders. The crowded chamber was thick with the smell of smoke, baked bread, and other foods prepared by the new kitchen matron, Dame Nels Doughty, and her staff. Torchlight threw a warm glow over the chamber, and the arena orchestra was set up at the hall’s far end playing a soft melody.
Are we here to mourn or celebrate Squireck Van Hester’s death?
The Blackest Heart Page 78